Raindrops Die Flying
by Kioko Mitsu
Summary: Typical day in the ever elusive relationship of Daisuke and Ken. Short, warm, and fuzzy. (Fanfiction.net needs a fluff category!)


Disclaimer: What? You want to sell the rights to Digimon to **me**, Toei? Why, thank you! I accept! I'm so happy! I – …just woke up. Sorry everyone, but there's just absolutely no way that I could ever own Digimon, and I'm certainly not making any money off this. But you know, if I did own Digimon, I would make action figures of our two favorite boys in certain…positions. Of course, you'd have to be 18+ to buy them. But they'd so be worth it.

Warnings: What? There are warning for fluff fics!? …Well, yes. You see, I have to warn you **of** the fluff, and the WAFF, and the general light, happy, sappy atmosphere of the fic. When I see this fic, I see shounen ai, and I hope you do, too, but it's not really necessary. I mean, maybe they're really close friends. With benefits.

Notes: All rejoice, for this was written with specific people in mind – my best friend. I'm sure she knows why. And if she doesn't, then she's an idiot, but we all knew that anyway…but the point is, please be kind with this. It's not mindless fluff about two dudes. It's really **my** mindless fluff, about two **real** chicks. But, um, really –forget I said anything…

It was strange, really.

I had to stop and wonder sometimes, _What are we?_

Ken's eyes were always softest when he looked at me. They were like that then, while we sat together on a hard bench in the rain. I'd had my arm around him for maybe an hour, and he held a red and white striped umbrella over us while we discussed where the rain went after it came down. We explored far beyond the obvious answer, that it returned to form clouds – we talked about where it went before all that.

It wasn't the first time I'd thought about it, of course, so I had a lot to say in the conversation. Ken sat and listened, mainly nodding and adding small comments now and then. I didn't know if it was out of interest or courtesy, but I appreciated it anyway. That's always the way it was with Ken.

Did it roll into the sewers? Did an animal drink it? Was it lost, soaked into the ground? Did it nurture some plant?

Had some rain, years ago, nourished the very tree hanging over us right then?

I wondered about it, and asked him just that. He smiled, shrugged and leaned his shoulder softly against mine – the touch between us was warm, even though insulated by our clothing – and said,

"I don't know, Dai. Why don't you ask it?"

"I can't talk to a tree, Ken. Despite popular belief, even **I** am not that talented."

"Of course." He smiled at me, tilting his head to the side, and my heart burst at the way his damp hair slid with the movement, like dark liquid.

Ken's beautiful, but I'd have killed anyone that told him I thought so.

We discussed the rain for a while, even after it stopped and Ken had put the umbrella away, shaking the summer rain from the red and white stripes and onto the ground beside our bench. I watched the raindrops shatter on the paved pathway nearby, and smirked.

"It falls off of umbrellas and sticks to the pavement," I said, bumping his knee with mine. He seemed to consider me for a minute, then returned both my smirk and knee gesture.

"It gets stuck in the hair of silly boys that talk too much," he said, reaching over to flick a bead of moisture from a wild wine-colored spike.

I smiled at him, briefly, and brushed some of the water from his inky hair as well. Since we were sharing an umbrella, each of us sported a wet side – mine the right; his the left.

But we didn't mind. We had the whole day to waste on things like this; a wet side and rain in our hair wasn't going to stop us. I leaned back against the bench, craning my neck to stare at the wide expanse of sky, and watched a bird pass us.

Suddenly, I said, "Sometimes it falls onto birds' wings, and the rain flies for a while before it evaporates – which is kind of like dying, so…" I became considerably more serious. Softly, I murmured, "I think it would be nice to die flying, like raindrops."

Ken gave me a sidelong glance, a crease in his brow telling me that he was concerned. My chest warmed knowing that it was for me, and I laughed at him before I told him,

"Don't worry. I won't, and I don't want to."

He nodded. We were silent for a while in understanding, and his side was refreshing as it was pressed against mine.

Eventually, he asked, "What now?"

In reference to the day, of course, but it set me thinking again.

_What now?_

I could never stop wondering, where we'd go to next. Not in a location sense, but more of an emotional one. The question was a frequent visitor to my fuzzy mind.

_What are we?_

I looked at him and considered asking him to stay here, watching raindrops die flying and talking about pointless things, but the wind was blowing, and as pretty as it was to watch the branches sway, it was chilling my side, and probably Ken's, too. So, instead, I rose and took his hand, pulling him with me.

"Let's head back to my place," I said to him, and we did, splashing in puddles along the way. We were spotted in wet patches after that – and he was a little sour that I'd splashed him, but he got over it fast enough once we were home and smelled Jun baking cookies. We stole some, along with chips and caffeine, and hid out in my room playing video games until the sun died. I almost asked him to go outside and watch the sunset with me, but we were on one of the final levels, and I'd never beaten that one before, so it was pointless to ask.

Ken cleared the level, of course. When all other strategy failed, I always asked him to beat games for me. It was mere convenience that he was there that day.

It ended with the both of us full of junk food, me complaining of a stomach ache while I leaned my head in his lap and he stroked my hair. He only smiled at me, his eyes soft, and tsk'ed softly.

"I told you not to eat all of that, Dai."

"I know," I whined, "but it tasted good."

"So you don't regret it? Even though you have a stomach ache?"

"Nope." And I grinned at him. "Sometimes you have to take the pain to get to the good stuff."

So he sighed and rubbed my stomach gently, admonishing me while he did it, but I didn't care. I relaxed against him, eyes closed, and I knew he was smiling without having to look.

Ken was like that. I always knew how to read him.

The night went on like that, pumped on caffeine and soft electric touches. It was so easy to get lost in time like that, with Ken. We shared a bed when we finally slept, even though we were both too old for things like that. It was a habit we began maybe a year after we met. But it was better that way, because the one time we tried sleeping separately after that, I woke up next to him, his head buried against my neck and tears on his face. I never asked about his nightmares and he never told me, but I always comforted him. He seemed to appreciate it.

We balanced, like that. Give and take. He put up with my incessant rambling, hyperactive personality, and obsessive nature. I put up with his brooding and angst and told him when he thought too much – although, he never believed me when I did. He said one can never think too much, but I disagree. And that's okay, because everyone disagrees sometimes – even me and Ken.

Ken didn't have any nightmares that night. It was the perfect example of our relationship, that day we spent together. Simple, but so much deeper than either of us realized. I fell asleep clutching his waist, and I woke up holding his hand while he watched me through slitted violet eyes.

I have never been happier.

The question 'What are we?' no longer matters.


End file.
